Alive and Kicking
by Annthea
Summary: Sookie gets a cat. Pam fakes a spray tan. Eric rides a pony. DAG spoilers.
1. Chapter 1: Gus

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters; I'm just a writing minion.

Note: I expect this story to end at around fifty or so chapters. I also don't have a beta so I apologize for the errors!

--

Chapter One: Gus

I missed my cat.

Honestly a revelation like that should have been followed up with an epic 'DUH'; after all, it had been impossible not to look at Bob, back when he was still a feline, without some sense of melancholy given that his predecessor had met her end at the blades of a ceiling fan. Pets in general provided a quiet sort of company to me that was a refreshing change from the twenty-four hour human discovery channel, and even with Amelia in my home there was something to be said about having a life form around that didn't talk back.

It was simple, really. I woke up this morning, decided I missed Tina, and set off to do something about it.

That was how I came to be standing at the chain linked fence of the local cat shelter, nodding to a woman named Marcie who was yammering on enthusiastically about what it meant to find 'the one.' The one _cat,_ that is. She saw it as trying to pick out a lover, but just a more expedient, albeit one-sided, process.

I was disturbed too.

After I filled out the appropriate paperwork via clipboard and ballpoint pen, she led me inside and had me wait a few minutes while she filed my forms away. Once that was taken care of, I followed her upstairs into a room she called the cattery, feeling much more excited than I thought I would be.

To an extent I was surprised the cattery was as full as it was. I'd come to terms with the supernatural world a long time ago, and a part of that process was accepting that ingesting furry, woodland creatures and other such things was not only a necessity to some, but sport for the local were community. Bubba came to mind briefly, and I shoved that thought down quick. But in all it seemed logical to assume most strays would've become dinner one way or another, effectively clearing up the streets. I loved animals, and I didn't like it, but as usual all I could do was sit back and look the other way.

I would've voiced my question to Marcie had I not figured her to be a woman to freak out at the simple mention of supes. She was slightly jittery, smelled faintly of cat urine and disinfectant and wore a set of heavy, wire-rimmed spectacles that were completely disproportionate to the size of her small face. As she peered up at me from behind them, her eyes as big as saucers, I couldn't help but feel like I was being evaluated.

"Do you see any one that you like, dearie?" She asked, snapping me out of my thought bubble.

I squinted hard at the dozens of fur balls tracking my every move, some suspicious, some hopeful, and others lost in a catnip-induced daze. Somewhere to my far right, a cat yawned lazily.

"They're all beautiful," I said politely, and her response immediately informed me I had said the right thing. She was beaming. "It's hard to choose just one. Whichever I pick will be with me for life, so I have to be completely certain."

I think that last statement got me bonus points.

When I'd first met Marcie earlier, a little foray into her mind yielded mostly boring, but useful details on the type of people she considered worthy adopters. I'd done my research and was aware that even if I wanted a cat, that didn't necessarily mean I'd get one. Shelter workers were notoriously stringent with their adoption criteria, and my subtle manipulation with Marcie told me on a more conscious level just how desperately I really wanted a cat. A real cat, and not a person that could look just like a cat and then transform into a naked human when I least expected it.

She left me alone after that, and I was free to wander the cattery without interruption. The room was full of natural light, courtesy of a sunroof, and the walls were painted in a cheery pale yellow color that reminded me of how a gender-neutral baby's room might look. The center of the cattery was dominated by an elaborate set of interconnecting scratching posts mounted upon a sturdy wooden base covered in colorful fabric. Most of the adult cats clung to this structure, while the kittens were more focused batting around the fake mice and balls of yarn that littered the floor.

It was a beautiful space; peaceful, and nicer than I'm sure a lot of people's homes were, and for a second I felt overwhelmed by the kind of generosity humans were capable of – the kind of generosity that had provided these animals with an area to sleep, water to drink, food to eat, and people as obsessive as Marcie to look after their well being. Too often I was privy only to the darker, less charitable side of human nature, and it was nice to see that outside of my supernatural prison that society was still capable of a couple good deeds.

I felt tears welling up, and quickly brushed them away with the back of my hand. That time of month had to be coming, because I was feeling way to sensitive for my own good.

But I had a mission to complete, and as soon as I righted my state of mind, I would choose the newest, fuzziest member of the Stackhouse household and bring him or her home.

As if on cue, I heard a soft mewing, and looked down to see a young tomcat, not yet quite fully an adult, leaning into my legs and purring contentedly. He was shorthaired, a tabby, and had gorgeous sky blue eyes.

Two hours later, 'Gus' and I left the shelter. Marcie was pleased.

It was a long drive to and from the shelter, so it wasn't until eight thirty in the evening that I finally returned home. I found Amelia relaxing in front of the television, intent on someone she referred to as 'McDreamy' on screen. I hadn't warned her ahead of time about Gus, so she was caught a bit off guard but quickly settled into the idea of having a new cat after Gus mewed several friendly overtures. Amelia adapted well like that, and it was one of the reasons why I loved having her as a roommate.

After I had Gus settled, the litter box set up and a bowl of kibble stationed in the corner of the kitchen, I asked my roommate if she had any preference for Pizza or Chinese, but she waved me off and muttered something about ghost sex.

I still worried about her sometimes, but she seemed to have recovered from the events of the Fae war much better than I had, at least on the surface. She usually had nothing to hide, being the loud broadcaster than she was, but I was well aware of her ability to shield stuff from me if she really wanted to. She was a witch, after all. We all needed time to heal, and I respected her need for space.

As I was trying to order Chinese takeout -- 'trying' due to my argument with the woman on the line over how many packets of soy sauce I was owed with my meal -- I heard a small 'beep' on my phone which indicated call waiting and asked the her whether she'd mind holding for a minute. I didn't give her a chance to protest before I switched lines.

"Hello?"

"Evening, lover. Are you alone?"

I rolled my eyes. "We are not having phone sex. I'm in the middle of ordering oily takeout."

"Mmm promise to grease yourself up afterwards?"

"Goodbye Eric," I sighed, about to return to the woman at 'Chang's Chinese Cuisine when Eric said, "wait."

My finger paused mid-air. "What is it?"

"I need to come see you. It is of much importance"

"Are you sure this can't wait until tomorrow? I can drop by after work."

"No," was his clipped reply.

I sighed, and after a brief pause said, "fine." I wasn't in the mood to argue. "I'll see you in a bit."

By the time I switched back over to the other line, I realized the dragon lady had hung up on me.

"Stupid Viking," I muttered, unwilling to go through the ordering process again and hating that I was now resigned to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner. Eric owed me a very, very expensive meal, preferably one that involved imported steak.

Twenty minutes later, I heard a knock at the door. I'd felt him long before he had even set foot on the porch, but instead of the joy the blood bond usually brought me, there was only a touch of wariness from the normally chipper Viking.

I opened the door and immediately felt a momentary thrill of pleasure that had nothing to do with the blood bond. Eric was a gorgeous man, and he knew how to preen his feathers well. Tonight he was wearing his usual Fangtasia ensemble, complete with black butt-hugging leather pants and a sleeveless bar tank that hid none of that wonderful musculature he was so famous for. A lesser woman would have been fanning herself by now.

However instead bestowing upon me one of his many amorous greetings, he took a curious sniff of the air. A second later his blonde eyebrows shot up.

"You have been invaded."

"Whaa--" was the only coherent thing I was able to say before one very large Viking slid past me (in a completely non-erotic way, sadly) and disappeared into my kitchen. Frustrated, I slammed the door shut and stalked after him.

Of all the things I've discovered in my kitchen -- and there have been _plenty_ -- the last thing I ever expected was to see Eric involved in an apparent stare-off with a cat. They were both glaring at each other from opposite ends of the table, Eric rigid and hunched over with his knuckles pressed down on the surface, and Gus two feet away with his tail stick straight in the air. Oh, and this was the best part -- they were both showing fang.

Secretly, I was glad I'd gotten a cat instead of a dog. There would be less pee to clean up when they both decided to mark their territory.

As I contemplated the tension in the room, Amelia wandered in, oblivious to all, and thankfully made the introductions.

"Eric, Gus. Gus, Eric," she drawled, ignoring both of them as she rummaged through the fridge, presumably for some source of caffeine. Amelia had developed a notable hatred for coffee, and had let me know earlier this morning that she would be up late tonight chatting with an old friend of hers via webcam. She'd winked at me then, and I had to wonder if 'chatting' was all they were going to do. Even now I held on tight to my shields -- the last thing I needed was a mental image of my roommate naked.

If either of them heard her, they made no show of it. Disgusted, I finally decided to do something and smacked Eric on the back of the head.

"Earth to Eric!" I snapped. I was irritated, tired, and hormonal. Even Eric knew better than to test my patience with all those elements stirring the pot, and his head jerked up as if I'd physically knocked him out of his trance. Which I had… sort of. But still, I didn't expect him to react so quickly.

To my further surprise, his fangs receded, and he only nodded sharply to me before throwing Gus another dirty look and making his way to the living room. No lewd comments, no attempts to feel me up, nothing. My heart sank. He really had serious business to discuss, which meant that one way of another I was due for some serious hurting.

Drawing in a shaky breath, I petted Gus on the head then followed Eric out. He'd taken a seat on the EZ-boy, not the couch where he could be within arm's distance of me, and I took that as another sign that something was wrong. He stiffened slightly as I sat down, as though mentally preparing himself for what he had to say. His shields must have slipped slightly as he did so, because I suddenly felt myself awash in a sense of unease so murky and dark I began gasping. It was everything I had felt from him earlier magnified to an infinite degree.

"What the hell?" I swore, even as I suddenly found him beside me, propping me up, one large hand on my back. It took me a few more seconds to calm down, and when I was finally able to breathe properly I noticed Eric's attention had drifted elsewhere. To the ceiling, apparently. One of his hands then sought out my own, and grasped it tight.

We sat in stony silence for a while, until finally he looked back down at me, his face unreadable, "Sookie," he began, slowly, perhaps for dramatic effect. "Do you trust me?"

Of all the possible things he could have said in that moment, he had to say the one thing that would set me off.

I knew it was unfair of me, but every nasty, repressed emotion I had felt over the past few months suddenly coalesced into a frightening stream of consciousness that was violent enough to make one of the most powerful vampires I'd ever known to drop my hand like a hot potato.

Whatever I was feeling, the blood bond was singing with it. Or screaming. Whatever.

More silence.

"I guess that answers the question," he said, his voice having reached a level of glacial I wasn't even aware of.

That did it. I was officially pissed. "Oh no, you do _not_ get to be snippy with me!"

Eric's face was stormy, but I was on a roll now. "I'm so sick of all your vampire shit. Do you think you can just come over, sweet talk me into doing whatever you say based on your _word_ I won't get hurt?"

I stood up then, jerking away from him and wishing I had the strength to slap him hard enough he'd actually feel it. "I am so sick of your shit," I repeated, surprised to feel hot, fat tears rolling down my cheeks. "You have no idea…"

I let the sentence trail off, not trusting myself to complete it. Because continuing on would have meant letting him know exactly how the scars I still bore twitched in my dreams, and how I still remembered those endless hours that shack, helpless and immobile and unable to do anything but bleed. It would also mean admitting how scared of the dark I'd really become.

I hadn't confided the more sordid details of that night to anyone, although Amelia had probably come the closest to guessing how badly the torture had affected me. She thought I had survivor's guilt, which probably wasn't too far from the truth – but she had also commented that I was being quite merciful to Eric by concealing the full extent of the experience from him. When I asked her to explain, she simply shrugged and said that in a way it's easier to be the one hurting than to watch someone you love in pain.

While I didn't agree with her entirely, I'd taken no offense to her words; she meant well, and I knew she wasn't trying to trivialize what had happened to me. But I was now angry to a point where I wanted Eric to suffer as much as I had. I wanted him to feel my pain – I wanted him to take the burden from me and shoulder it with all his strength.

He'd stayed oddly still during my rant, which had probably taken all of ten seconds. One could even mistake him to be made of marble if they only just entered the room, and irrationally I loathed the fact that I couldn't see the rise and fall of his chest. He was a beautiful dead thing, animated for some inexplicable reason to complicate my life, and behind those steely blue eyes was a mind too far away for me to reach. I could never be close to him -- not in the way that really mattered.

Was that what it really came down to?

"Please leave," I said quietly, moving backwards across the room to stand by the television, a safe distance away from him. My hands balled into fists and I tried hard to avert my gaze from his. "I don't want to say anything else I'll regret. But know for now that I'm through with being a plaything for you vamps and your politics."

He inclined his head slightly, his expression now schooled into a pensive frown. For some reason his anger at my outburst seemed to have diminished. "You are not being rational tonight, Sookie. We will talk later."

My eyes flashed.

"Alright then" I said, emphasizing each and every syllable, as if speaking to a fellow dim-witted blonde. "Unless it involves the destruction of the galaxy or you hear that aliens have landed and wish to make a slave race out of my people, leave me the _hell_ alone. Clear enough for you?" I practically shouted.

So much for not saying anything I'd regret come morning.

Eric stood then, in a graceful motion that seemed impossible for a man of his height. Without saying a word to me, he turned and let himself out.

My shoulders sagged forward the second I felt his presence move beyond the shadows of my house.

Truth be told, I knew I was being childish, but I figured I deserved an outburst or two. One can only have so many near death experiences before they snap, and better I did so to Eric mockingly and in private instead of in a room full of vampires. On a positive note, at least it was out of my system now…

… Or perhaps I was afraid this was only the tip of the iceberg, and that the eventual showdown between Eric and I might be much, much worse. Then I would have to address it all as an adult, in complete seriousness, and Eric and I would have to decide where exactly we stood with enough other. As if we haven't had to do that a thousand times already.

Since Amelia hadn't come barreling into the room by now, I could only assume she had her headphones on and was absorbed with whatever she was doing with her webcam. The coast was clear.

There was only one thing left to do.

I settled onto the couch, curled up into a ball, and cried.


	2. Chapter 2: Ginny

A couple important things happen in this chapter, and I apologize for it being so long… my editing skills obviously need some work. I also promise the inclusion of more Eric next time, but please understand that for now his absence is necessary. Trust me, I miss him too! Also of note - the original characters in this story are by no means major players. Don't worry about them stealing the spotlight from the characters we all already know and love.

Lastly, thanks to everyone who left a review! I deeply appreciate the comments, and am always looking for ways to improve on my writing. This chapter felt harder to write as it's particularly important in setting a direction for the plot, so I hope it doesn't disappoint.

--

Chapter Two: Ginny

I woke up the following morning with bags under my eyes and a warm ball of fur tucked under my chin.

It was dark outside, I noticed immediately, and rain beat on the windows in a steady staccato that was amplified by the silence of the house. The weather made it hard to discern the time, and as my eyes adjusted I found myself walking towards the kitchen in search of the stove clock. Gus, who'd unfurled himself the moment I'd risen, trailed by my feet.

The illuminated numbers read five twenty-seven, much to my chagrin. I wasn't a morning person by any means, but now that I was awake there seemed no point in going back to bed. My dreams were always violent, dark, and otherworldly. In a strange way, it was only by holding back on sleep and falling victim to frequent bouts of insomnia that I was able to keep my mind at ease.

Quietly, I got a kettle of hot water going, mindful that Amelia might still be snoozing peacefully upstairs. My stomach rumbled, chastising me for having missed dinner last night, and I set about making some French toast. Amelia and I were pretty diligent about keeping supplies stocked in the kitchen, so I was able to find eggs, milk, sugar, and even cinnamon sticks with some digging. After some careful measuring I added the ingredients together and combined them with a few furious whisks. I then left the mixture to stand and then started on slicing the bread. All that was left to do was to soak the bread in the mixture before tossing it onto the pan.

The recipe was fairly simple, and one I'd learned from an early age. It was comfort food, the kind that smelled of home and simpler days when the only thing I had to worry about was Jason's womanizing and whether I had spent too much time out in the sun.

Fate was a strange thing. There was a time when I used to wonder whether, if I had simply ignored Bill that night, things would have turned out much differently. But then I found out about Hadley, and the fact that my grandmother had been seduced by a half-fairy, and all of a sudden the threads of Fate proved far too knotted and intertwined to unravel. The pragmatic side of me saw no point in regretting, while weepy Sookie, the part of me that was far too tired of hurting, couldn't help but wonder what might have been.

Soon the air was crackling with cinnamon-infused flavor, and I set the table quickly before taking the toast off the pan. Amelia always appreciated a good breakfast, so I hoped she would be up soon.

As it turned out, I needn't have worried. She had a good nose for a mere human, and she'd smelled the French Toast cooking from all the way upstairs.

"Special occasion?" She inquired with a raised eyebrow as she took her place at the table. She was already dressed, wearing a lovely olive-green cashmere twinset that had to be a gift from Pam.

"Just felt like doing something cheery," I said with a nod towards the window. Outside the rain hadn't let up any. If anything, it was beating down with even more force than before.

We settled into light conversation between bites of food. I found out that Amelia was up early for to prepare for a web conference with some of the New Orleans witches. It seemed the Were's great reveal had had considerable impact on their thoughts about 'coming out' to the world, and there was now an underground survey being conducted as to what the larger Wiccan community thought of the idea. Amelia herself was reserved about it, but not entirely opposed.

"They accepted the bloodsuckers and shifters well enough, why would they have problems with actual people who just happen to practice magic?"

It made sense, on paper. But I was concerned about the fanatics and zealots, those who saw it fit to murder supes and others they accused of preaching the 'Devil's work', and who were using the emergence of the supernatural community as a rallying point to gather greater numbers for their cause. I had my worries, but I kept my thoughts to myself, content to let Amelia talk.

After a while, when our stomachs were fully sated, Amelia thanked me for cooking then bounded back to her room to do more research. I assured her I'd be fine handling clean up, and was washing the dishes when my cell phone began vibrating in my pocket. I forgot that it was still there from last night – it had to be running low on battery by now. I also wondered who was rude enough to be calling at this time of the morning. I struggled for the phone with soapy fingers.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Ms. Stackhouse. Are you free to talk?"

"Um, yes?" I said, not recognizing the voice. Identifying myself to a stranger wasn't the smartest thing in the world, but I decided if someone were really out to get me they'd already be in my kitchen.

Which was precisely what happened with a dramatic poof of yellow smoke. I screamed and dropped the phone.

"Ms. Stackhouse, please do not be alarmed."

I stared. Then I stared some more.

Standing in front of me was a man who looked to be fresh out of a D&G catalogue. He had alabaster skin, a square jaw, high cheekbones and a variety of piercings on his face, but his most astonishing feature was his hair. It had been styled in a Mohawk and was, I swear, fire-engine red. The roots looked far too perfect to have been a dye job, and his hair collected thickly toward the front of his face and had been swept to one side with what looked to be industrial strength gel.

His hair distracted me to such a degree that, after a few moments of staring, I realized I didn't even know what he looked like from the neck down.

He was watching me with a cautious grin on his face. I almost asked him who his dentist was, because he had perfect, _gleaming_ white teeth.

"Sookie!"

I whipped around to see Amelia standing by the doorway, carrying my shotgun and looking just as shocked as I was.

"I came to see if you were… okay." She looked nervously back and forth between me and the mysterious stranger. "But I guess… you are?"

The question was left hanging in the air, and I looked back at the man, feeling confused. I didn't particularly feel threatened by him, but one could never tell. I thought over the notion of conducting a cavity search for any dangerous weapons.

Earth to Sookie. Potential serial killer in kitchen.

"Am I?" I wondered aloud.

He raised his hands in half-surrender. If he was looking to kill me, he was doing a terrible job of it. "No harm will come to you. I am here under Niall's orders."

My perception of him altered in an instant. Niall had many enemies, _dangerous_ enemies, and also from what I understood the portal between his world and ours had already been sealed off. If he was a fairy, as those close to Niall usually were, then he had chosen to stay here by choice. I looked closer. His ears appeared normal, but he had possibly consulted with Claude's plastic surgeon.

"I'm not a fairy," he said, as if reading my mind, and for a second I was afraid he had. "I'm a friend he asked to keep a close eye on you. To make sure that you would be protected in his absence."

Suddenly to became clear to me what he was. I was not prepared for the rush of anger that seized me, or the deep sadness that accompanied it.

"I do not need a replacement for Claudine." My words were cool and final.

"I didn't say that I was," he returned smoothly. He opened his coat, a fitted blue-maroon pin striped piece with emblazoned skulls, so I could watch his hand as he retrieved something from the inside pocket.

"A letter and a calling card," he explained, placing both items on the table. I could see he was trying to be as non-threatening as possible, and the alert level in my head dropped slightly. "From Niall. The card is mine, should you ever need me."

He stepped away from the table as soon I stepped forward, his hands again held up in half-surrender.

Cautiously, I reached for the card first, noting the name written in elegant script.

"Lars Weidman?"

He bent forward, bowing slightly. He repeated the same action to Amelia, who was still eavesdropping by the doorway. I read the rest of the card. He owned an architectural firm in New York City.

"You're an architect?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes." I heard pride in his voice. "Business is great, but that's just my day job." He had a very subtle accent, one I hadn't really noticed, but the inflection became more obvious the longer we talked.

I didn't ask about what he did at night. I was afraid it might involve something I wasn't prepared to hear, like eating babies or punting penguins. Instead I pursed my lips together and considered him.

"Why now?" I demanded, after he didn't offer any more information. It had been five months since I returned from the hospital, five months since any connection I had to family other than Jason had been severed forever.

He grinned again, and I had to admit that if Niall _had_ sent him, he'd made a good choice. Lars was the kind of man who seemed comfortable at a social level, and he seemed friendly, modern, and with the exception of his entrance, almost passable as human. The kind of person I might come to trust.

But of course, if he had been sent to protect me, people skills would have been at the bottom on my Grandfather's list of criteria.

"I've actually been observing you for a while now," he admitted. "From afar, of course."

"That's impossible," I said, believing I was catching him in a lie. "To my knowledge Eric hasn't tried to have anyone killed, and he would've if he'd sensed you were skulking about on my property. Try again."

He gave me a peculiar look.

"Ms. Stackhouse, please try to read my mind."

I concentrated. I concentrated _hard_. I blinked and tried closing my eyes, but there was nothing. Not a snarl of words and images, like what I got from shifters, and not even the buzz from fairies or the negative space that filled by void left by vampires. It was eerie; it was like he didn't exist.

My expressive gave me away. He leaned against the countertop, apparently comfortable enough with his surroundings to lounge.

"It's part of my talent. I can remain completely invisible to supes." He tapped his nose. "They can't smell me, see me, sense me, hear me, unless I allow it. I can also bypass most magics, which was how I was able to enter your house."

He nodded towards Amelia. "The wards surrounding this house are quite powerful, and satisfactory for the most part. Your witch is good." He sounded respectful.

Amelia turned a deep shade of scarlet and giggled.

"So," I said briskly, ignoring my roommate, "you're some kind of… super spy? Like James Bond?" I didn't realize how stupid that sounded until the words left my mouth, but Lars just laughed.

"That's one way of putting it," he said, his green eyes twinkling with merriment. "But it is useful in checking in on you, given the company you keep."

"Let me guess, you also have a license to kill?"

This time, he shook his head. "I believe in making love, not war." It was a very hippie statement, and not what I had expected. He continued on and said, "but I have certain associates that can take care of the grunt work as and when needed."

Figures the rich and powerful would have minions to do their bidding.

"Well, thank you for the offer, but as you can see I'm doing just fine." I tried not to think of the fact that my make-up was smudged and that I looked like the human equivalent of a blonde panda. "But you didn't answer my question. Why now?"

"The vampire showed up on your doorstep last night for a reason," my heart swelled slightly at the mention of Eric, "and I just wanted to make sure you knew you had other resources to defer to, should you ever require help. Vampires and shifters both have their limits."

I smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach my eyes. "It's all very sweet of you, but I don't plan on having any part of Eric's grand 'ol scheme."

He didn't answer. He just smiled in kind and bowed his head once more.

"Then consider the card an emergency line, for when you no longer have a choice."

Before I could demand to know what he was or what he meant by that cryptic comment, he vanished in another puff of yellow smoke.

Next to my feet, Gus hacked and coughed.

"Wow, Sookie." Amelia said, once the air had cleared. "That's one pretty hot fairy godfather you have there." She paused. "You think he's straight?"

"Amelia," I warned through gritted teeth. A thought suddenly occurred to me. "No mention of Lars to anyone, ok? Especially not to Eric."

"Do you think that's wise? We don't even know if this guy is who he says he is."

"Amelia…"

"Fine, if you're going to be that way. But what are you going to do with that?" She asked, pointing at Niall's unopened letter on the table.

"Not a thing until I get back from work. I don't need any more distractions," I said firmly. "Can you put it on my nightstand for me on your way out, please?"

Amelia swiped the letter and then left without further prodding from me. I sighed, then went back to task of cleaning the dishes. I was partly in denial about what had just happened, and it was comforting to fall back into a pattern of menial chores to keep my mind occupied. After I was done with the kitchen, I moved onto the living room where I dusted, mopped, and vacuumed with the vigor of a woman possessed.

The rest of the morning flew by pretty quickly, and before I knew it, it was almost two o'clock and time for my shift at Merlottes. I'd be pulling double duty today, both afternoon and evening. I took care of Gus's needs then changed into my work clothes which consisted of a white, Merlottes boat neck tee and a black mini skirt as my shorts were still in the wash. It was still raining hard when I left, so I donned a bright yellow rain slicker to top it all off and drove extra slow to account for any extra road hazards brought on by the weather.

By the time I arrived at Merlottes, I noticed the parking lot to be fuller than usual for a Friday afternoon. I recognized some of the cars – my brothers, for one, his truck with loud pink and aqua swirls, and JB's new convertible, a sleek ride with a classic black paint job and white piping around the sides. There was only one slot left empty by forest line close to Sam's trailer, and I took it quick before anyone else decided to show up.

Earlier in the week Sam had installed a fifty-inch high definition flat screen in the bar, and I suspected the larger crowd probably had something to do with that investment. True to form, the place was hopping as I entered. I acknowledged Sam, who was serving drinks behind the bar, and the rest of the wait staff before I went to store my bag in the employee locker room.

Jason and I were on speaking terms, but I didn't look his way as I re-entered the bar and got into the flow of serving and taking orders. Things between us were friendly but strained, and the more entrenched he became in the werepanther community, the larger the distance between us became. And then there was also the matter of Niall, who had favored me heavily over my own brother, something I'd had no control over at the time but which Jason still blamed me for regardless.

I'd lost a lot to the supes -- my blood, sanity, and virginity among them -- but watching my brother disappear before my eyes was probably the hardest cross to bear.

He was in the company of at least six other panthers, some familiar and some not, and they were all whooping and gesticulating wildly to the flat screen. There was a football game underway, and it seemed most of the men -- both humand and not -- of Bon Temps were in attendance. The game was to be a long one, and by the time evening had rolled around the bar had filled to maximum capacity and then some.

Bill glided in at around seven. His usual booth in my section was occupied, so I somehow made room for him at the counter by shoving an extra stool in between patrons.

We exchanged brief greetings as I seated him, but we weren't given a chance at actual conversation until the game went into over time. Everyone, it seemed, was too focused on the game to think about drinking or eating, so I took a little breather and offered Bill another True Blood to replace the one he'd already finished.

"I'm worried about you, Sookie," he said, as I came to stand by him.

I glared at him, touched by the over-protectiveness but simultaneously disgusted by it. Did no one think I was capable of taking care of myself?

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I assure you I'm quite alright."

"Have you thought over my offer of having you and Amelia move into my house? You do not need to worry about Eric objecting, I have spoken to him on such matters and he agreed it would be for the best."

I tried to imagine Bill and Eric sitting down over a cup of tea to discuss my life, like a pair of Victorian gentlemen working out how to best care for their cattle. It struck me not only as bizarre that they'd managed a civil discussion, but that they had come to an agreement which involved me living with an ex-lover. An ex-lover I'd had loud, exuberant sex with, and who I was in debt to for saving my life.

Was Eric high? Was this some new big brother program they had concocted in a moment of mad scientist brilliance? The Sookie version of the Truman Show?

"Sookie?"

I came back down to earth and fixed Bill with the coldest expression I could muster.

"I'm fine where I am, thank you very much," I said stiffly. Bill picked up on my change in mood, and he at least had the decency to look abashed.

"I know how much you value your independence, Sookie, but--"

"And you would do well to remember that," I said, cutting him off. "Now if you will excuse me, I have other customers to tend to."

I grabbed a pitcher of beer and walked away from him in a huff, muttering to myself about stupid vampires.

Just then, the door to the bar burst open, and a dark, wet woman with wild Amazonian hair strode through with a gait that indicated she was spoiling for a fight. I could tell instantly she was a were, from the static in her head, and when I tried to probe further, her eyes -- ochre, cat-like eyes -- locked onto mine.

Oh shit.

"Are you Sookie Stackhouse?" She growled.

I should have probably denied it, but I was tired and too riled up from my conversation with Bill to care, so I cocked my hip to the side and squared myself to face her.

"Maybe. Who's asking?" I snapped back.

In the time I've been involved with the supernatural world, a few things have grown quite clear to me. The first was that I've become quite adept at taking damage. That was me, Sookie Stackhouse, extra-strength shock absorber or synthetic blow-up doll depending on the occasion. The second was that I've developed a rather potent 'spidey-sense' so far as incoming danger from supes and people trying to kill me was concerned.

The only problem was that I had yet to perfect the art of fully avoiding said danger.

So when the were-bitch pulled her arm back in one blindingly fast motion, my spidey sense was able to predict the blow from a mile away. Unfortunately, the utterly normal human reaction time I possessed was a tad bit slow in making me duck, resulting in the sharp crack of my jaw and me landing not-so-gracefully on my ass. The pitcher of beer I'd been holding followed soon after, falling on me and thoroughly wetting my shirt.

The game had been forgotten some time between the were bitch's entrance and my fall, so everyone was now watching us in rapt attention.

A few dozen variations of '_Nice Rack!'_ and _'I knew they were real!' _made it past my mental shields. I winced, and folded my arms across my chest.

Sam was quick to restrain the were bitch from doing any further damage, and bitterly I wondered where those fantastic reflexes had been when she'd decided to channel her inner Mike Tyson.

I didn't see the point in whining about anything, so I just sat there, trying to maintain some sense of dignity despite the fact that I was splayed out on the floor in a see-through shirt while wearing a short, small skirt and even smaller underwear.

And yes, any minute now someone would come over to help me up. I wasn't that badly hurt -- this was just a scratch compared to some of the things I've endured -- but some chivalry would've been nice.

"Sookie, do you require assistance?" Bill asked, finally emerging from the crowd. He seemed to be hesitating, no doubt thinking back to our earlier throw-down. Either that or this would be his passive aggressive way of teaching me a lesson. His next words confirmed it; "would it be an insult to your independence?"

Oh my savior, my fucking tree in shining armor.

"I'm just peachy," I grunted, propping myself up on one elbow and using the chair next to me as leverage to stand up. My whole face ached fiercely, and I must have looked a mess, a look that really wasn't good for me but which I seemed to be sporting quite often these days. Oh yes. Bitter didn't even begin to describe how I felt.

Part of me wanted to stalk out of there and go home, perhaps even making a statement in the process -- that I didn't give a shit about supes anymore, and that I wasn't going to stand for being used time and time again as a punching bag. But even as I thought the plan through, I became deflated at the idea of what my actions might say about… well, me. Much as I tried, all my Southern teachings had a terrible habit of overriding any goal of self-preservation, it seemed. Pam was right; I was too damn nice for my own good.

This was my mess. I had to clean it up.

"Sam?" I tried, aware that he was still struggling to contain the were-bitch but feeling no sympathy whatsoever. He didn't answer, so I found myself a steady chair to collapse in and then asked Jill, one of the other waitresses, if she would mind fetching me a bag of ice. She scurried into the back storeroom like a mad rabbit. I couldn't blame her. The tension in the room was now thick, almost palpable, and everyone had lapsed into anxious silence.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jill returned with my bag of ice, and whatever rage spell the were-bitch was under had finally subsided. Sam had a few hushed words with her before handing her over to Jason and his ilk. Jason didn't look too happy about it, but he complied. A ways away from them, Bill looked to be in the process of leaving. He'd already left some money on the counter, and was halfway out the door when he caught my eye.

"Sookie, my office," Sam said. It wasn't a request. Forgetting Bill, I turned and followed my boss, chucking the bag of ice in the garbage on my way out.

Once we were alone, he shut the door behind me, his face anything but happy.

"I'm sorry about that, I really have no idea who she is," I blurted out, expecting a full lecture on Sam about how I was bad for business. "I've never seen her before in my life."

"I know," he said, a little too calmly. "Her name is Ginny. She's Quinn's new girlfriend."

Oh. _Oh_.

"It seems she came over to confront you over how greatly you messed up Quinn -- her words Sook, not mine," he added when I started to protest. "But she wasn't expecting you to be so… so…"

"Spit it out already, Sam."

"… normal. That's why she lost it."

"Because I'm human?" I asked incredulously. Clearly, the whole situation could have been avoided if I had a tail and some horns to match.

Sam shrugged. He seemed at a loss, too.

"I thought discrimination was mostly a vamp thing, not a shifter thing too," I grumbled.

"Don't know what to tell you, but honestly I don't think she's right in the head."

I had to think about this a minute. Sam had hooked up with a Maenad, the very same one that almost left me in pieces by the side of the road; Alcide had dated Debbie, who Eric and I had left in pieces somewhere in the ground after she tried to murder me in my own kitchen; Bill had dated Selah, an arrogant snob of a woman who had been freakishly obsessive over him; Eric had slept with too many women to count, usually sex-crazed nymphs; and now Quinn had shacked up with a were named Ginny who was in desperate need anger therapy?

What did it say about me when all the men in my life seemed to have a penchant for screwing psychos?

"Thanks for dealing with her," I murmured, reaching up to massage my temples. "I'm sorry we interrupted the game."

He waved off the apology. "Thank me by getting back to work. We still got a full house out there, and the game's not over yet. Your face okay?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute to clean up."

To Sams credit, he didn't fuss over me further, and simply gave me a pointed look before I left him in search of the bathroom.

The bruise had already begun to darken, and as I inspected my face I couldn't help but feel contempt for my whole situation. It wasn't really self-pity, more like a rhetorical 'why me?' moment that was completely unhelpful in trying to psych myself up to face the crowd that had sort of seen me half-naked.

Ginny may have thought me a 'normal' woman, but I far too rarely got to enjoy the small pleasures of a normal, non-eventful day.

I quickly switched out my wet top for the spare I kept in my locker, and straightened my skirt. After re-applying some of my make up, I took one last look in the mirror before stepping back out into the hallway to resume my shift.

The sight of a brown messenger bag slung on the door to the storeroom halted my progress back into the bar. I didn't recognize it as belonging to any of Sam's employees, and had a quick glance around to see if there was anyone else present. The hallway was empty, so I walked up to it and pulled it down to examine the contents. There had to be some form of identification I could use to seek out the owner.

As I was rifling through it, a small heavy black object fell to the ground. Without thinking, I bent over to pick it up.

It was cold to the touch, and it wasn't until I had it firmly gripped in my hand that I realized what it was.

That was when I peered into the storeroom and noticed the blood on the floor.

My stomach churned, and I wordlessly followed the dark splashes of red to its source.

The body had been propped up against an old filing cabinet at the back of the room. Unseeing ochre eyes stared back at me, luminous even in death. A perfect circle pierced the middle of the forehead. There was no mistaking her face.

Ginny was dead, and I was almost certain I was holding the gun that had killed her.


	3. Chapter 3: Pam

Thanks SO much for the reviews! I'm sorry this chapter took a while to churn out. The editing process is hard for me as I think I get more critical of my work the more times I read it through… the actual chapter was finished about two weeks ago, and the rest of the time was spent combing through the text for errors and continuity issues. I'm still not completely satisfied with it, but I think I just have to put my foot down an post it as it is.

The next chapter is in somewhat of the same state -- written, but not yet edited. I hope to get that up in a few days. A lot of Eric to look forward to in that one… thanks again for sticking with me, and I hope you all enjoy where this is going.

--

**Chapter Three: Pam**

I contemplated my options. Unfortunately for me, all my options sucked.

Option one; I could call Quinn.

_Babe, your ho of a girlfriend is dead and my prints are all over the weapon that might have killed her. Help me get rid of the body, please?_

I had a sudden image of tiger Quinn flying towards me, all four hundred and fifty magnificent pounds of him, claws outstretched and jaw open wide like what you would see on the National Geographic channel. Would he even pause to listen to what I had to say, or would he act first and think later? Would he sit down with Alcide and Bill for a heart to heart afterwards and form a Sookie-killed-my-girlfriend club, only supes need apply?

Suddenly I was very anxious to get a full run down of Eric's sexual history.

Speak of the devil, option two; I could call Eric.

It was tempting -- the thought of Eric gallantly riding up on some white pony to rescue me from my ivory tower of corpses -- but I never liked to think of myself as a damsel in distress, and I certainly wasn't going to start now. Eric had his own matters to deal with anyway, and more importantly I was determined to stay angry at him for a while longer, a resolve I'd have better odds of seeing through if he weren't standing around looking all scrumptious in tight shirts and leather pants.

Dead body. _Dead Body_. _Sexy thoughts are inappropriate._

Option Three; I could call the police.

The advantage of getting actual humans involved would mean that as a (somewhat) law-abiding citizen I'd at least be tried and processed by the legal system. Which I'd have a fairer shot at compared to the Were's barbaric ideas of justice. However, I wasn't yet ready to have 'attempted murder' on my record, whether or not it would allow me to avoid the eventual infliction of bodily harm.

Option Four; Hide and bury the body.

If I were a betting woman, I'd wager that in my past life I had been either a member of the mafia or a crime scene investigator. But these were modern times and instead of guts you got glitter powder, and instead of eviscerations you got exsanguinations. Hiding the body would imply guilt, but even if I wanted to choose option four, there was a simple, logistical reason why that might prove too hard to accomplish on my own.

Quinn just _had_ to date another were, which made 'clean up' just as messy as if I was dealing with an ordinary human. There were big, they leaked, and to add to that, the extra bulk of muscle they carried around made them much heavier too. I'd describe myself as a fairly strong woman, my strength further enhanced by Eric's blood, but Ginny was no waif, and while she wasn't a biker dude or pro wrestler, dragging her around and getting blood all over the floor would take too long and leave too much in disarray.

It dawned on me, as I was staring at Ginny's body willing some solution to mind, that I was feeling none of the horror someone in my position should feel. A small, troubled voice in the back of my head questioned if I was beginning to think more like a vampire than a human. Three years ago I would have screamed and then called for help. Now all I was concerned about was covering my own ass.

It made me a terrible human being.

Option Five: I could call whatshisface, Mr. D&G architect.

His card was in my back pocket, but I still didn't know him well enough to bond over a discussion of 'what to do with a corpse.' No, apparently I only did that with guys I considered potential dating material, and I was fairly certain Mr. D&G batted for the other team.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't even hear the Pam come up behind me. When she had arrived at Merlottes, I had no idea.

"Oh, Sookie," she said, causing me to almost jump out of my skin. "What have you done now?"

She had come to stand next to me, shoulder to shoulder, and in a weird, Pam way it was as though she was trying to comfort me with her closeness. Vamps weren't big on physical affection; physical violence was another thing altogether, but in general they didn't like being emotive or touchy-feely. I appreciated the gesture.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I admitted, earning a raised eyebrow from her. "It's been a bad night."

"You have certainly been keeping busy," she drawled, eyeing Ginny's body. She looked hungry, and I made a note to myself to fetch her a True Blood when I got the chance. "Your friend appears to be sleeping with the fishes."

I'd never seen The Godfather, but I knew enough from Jason's unhealthy obsession with the film to pick up on the reference. "Yes Pam," I said irritably, "I am well aware of that. And for the record, she is not my friend."

I launched into the story of how I had happened upon the body. I wasn't too sure if Pam was listening to me, however. Her eyes were slightly glazed over, and I had to wonder if she was deep in thought or perhaps wondering how Ginny's body would look on a dinner plate with an apple stuck in her mouth.

"I will give you an alibi," she said, after what seemed like much deliberation. "You would be too fragile to survive The Ring. Personally I think it's lots of fun, but Eric wouldn't be too pleased."

Oh sure, as long as Eric remained happy I wouldn't be ripped to shreds anytime soon.

"The Ring?" I asked dumbly, trying not to think of the packmaster's contest I had witnessed not that long ago.

"Call the Panther," Pam ordered, ignoring my question. She flipped open her phone and handed it to me. "He is the closest, and they will want to see it fresh, not writhing with maggots."

I did as told, and Calvin Norris answered after two rings. I was as brief as I could be, and lucky for me Calvin didn't ask for any details. He said he would be right over, and when that was done with I released a breath I didn't realize I had been holding.

"And what about Quinn?" I asked as I handed back the phone. At Pam's blank look, I filled her in on the state of Ginny's date card. When I was finished, the blonde vampire was actually grinning.

"Sookie, you are way more entertaining than that loud woman on television who likes to make people cry."

I must have looked somewhat dazed because Pam guided me out of the storeroom and into the hallway before telling me, "I'll get the shifter." I didn't object.

I thought of Calvin as a friend, an ally even, but even I couldn't predict how he might react to the death of a fellow were. I didn't know which shifter community Ginny belonged to, but hopefully they were a clan of werebunnies or something equally fluffy. I had the hysterical image of Ginny munching on a carrot.

Pam returned with Sam quickly, and I shifted my gaze to my feet.

"Well," he deadpanned, after surveying the scene, "no one can say life with you is boring, Sookie."

I didn't answer, and as he and Pam discussed what to do, I took it upon myself to watch the hallway just in case someone from outside decided to use the bathroom. Luckily it seemed all the patrons were all still glued to the game, and I just sat there staring into empty space.

After a few minutes, Pam and Sam had come to an agreement. The story would be that all three of us had discovered the body together, with no mention of the gun. Pam would get rid of that in her own time. Sam said we were right to call Calvin, and that Ginny's pack would also have to be informed, along with Quinn. Calvin would make an ideal go-between for the inevitable were politics that would ensue.

The brown messenger bag, according to Sam, had numerous scents all over it. Both Pam and Sam rubbed it on themselves so that mine wouldn't stand out as the freshest. Pam enjoyed the process a little too much.

"Eric must be told," Pam said to me once that was done. "You will be a suspect. The weres might come for you, and the tiger might attempt to eat you."

Sookie Stackhouse, worth 10,000 calories of Bon Temps bred white meat.

"I do not need his protection," I bristled. "I'm a friend of the pack."

"Sookie, darling," Pam said sweetly, "are you truly naïve enough to think that that will be enough to protect you?"

She was right, of course. I was very much in denial of the fact, but I wasn't about to admit it to her.

Instead, I swiveled on my heel and made a beeline for Sam's office. Sam found me there, seconds later, bawling my eyes out.

I thought I had been handling everything with much aplomb -- my word of the day -- thus far. I'd thought through things sensibly, held my head high, and kept my dinner in my stomach.

But once the tears started, nothing could hold them back.

Awkwardly Sam handed me a couple of tissues from his desk, which I accepted with as much grace as I could manage.

I was so unbelievably angry at death for the way it made me ache. Not only had it forced me to cope with way too much loss in my life, but it was now also slowly, maliciously eroding at whatever sense of humanity I had left. The more one saw of death, the less one saw of the living, and I felt as though I was being dragged deeper and further into some abyss that was far too cold from the absence of the Sun.

I blew my nose into one of Sam's tissues, and sniffled a bit before nodding at him to indicate I was okay. He didn't look quite convinced, and was leaning against his bookcase, worry lines etching his forehead.

In some ways, Sam seemed like a perfect match for me. He was handsome, steadfastly loyal, and understood me as well as any person could. He was also hardworking and had always been there for me when I'd needed him. But despite that, something between us just never seemed to work, and it was in this moment, however vulnerable, moment, that I wished we could've been just more than friends. Even when it felt like everything was crumbling around me, Sam had always been my rock. Why couldn't I fall in love with that?

"Why is it that all I want to do right now is hug you?" I wondered aloud. I must've looked pathetic sitting there, my nose red and eyes waterlogged with tears.

"That's what people do when they're grieving, Sookie. They reach for the closest body around."

I wasn't grieving, but I didn't tell him that. And I also noticed he made no move to come to me. His body language was guarded, stiff – a lot had changed, and my friendship with Sam had suffered over the past couple months. It only occurred to me then just how much I regretted that.

"I wish I loved you. I mean I do love you but…" I shrugged helplessly. "It's not the same kind of love."

"Course not," He said wryly. A bit bitterly, perhaps. "You love the bloodsucking, homicidal variety. Ones that trick you into making pledges you're not even aware of."

"I don't know," I whispered. Sam seemed surprised, and to my horror, a little hopeful.

"Do you love him?"

"Do I love him?" I paused before repeating, "I don't know." I felt like a broken record.

Sam fixed me with one of those intense stares of his while still managing to radiate comfort. He was like bourbon; warm and dependable with a kick of heat.

"Could you come to love him?"

"Yes." The word had left my mouth before I'd even had time to think it through, and it was only by the reaction on Sam's face that I even registered what I had said. I wanted to say more, but the damage had already been done, and it seemed cruel to twist the knife in any further. How could I explain my relationship with Eric when even I didn't understand it?

The silence between us was an uncomfortable one after that. I blamed myself.

It didn't take long for Calvin to arrive. He headed straight for the scene of the crime, accompanied by Jason and two other were panthers. Both Sam and I followed them to the storeroom. I hung back a little behind Sam, wondering if Calvin would be able to see through the lie we'd prepared for him, and worrying about what would happen if he did.

Calvin remained oddly silent as Sam explained the events of the night. He glanced at me only once, when Sam was running through Ginny's reason for being at Merlotte's -- checking out my bruise, I was guessing -- but for the majority of the time he kept his gaze locked on Sam's, his expression unreadable.

Not for the first time, I missed having Eric's strength at my back.

"You okay, Sookie?" I heard Calvin ask distantly. I snapped out of my daze.

"A little out of it," I said, which was true. But it added padding to the role I had to play, which was stunned, weak, sad Sookie who had been so badly affected by the Fae war that there was no way I could have been capable of carrying out a cold blooded murder. And judging from the sympathetic look Calvin was giving me, I'd played the role to perfection. Score an Emmy for me.

In a way I had to be thankful Calvin had always had a soft spot in his heart for me. He propositioned me, once -- not in the dirty, illicit sort of way, but with good intentions. I'd always been fond of him and was relieved to know that he was on my side. The Were's he oversaw, however, were a different matter altogether. They lacked Calvin's patience and wisdom, and the two with him were now giving me suspicious looks.

"I did not know much about her," Calvin said quietly, again drawing me out of my thoughts. "She was Quinn's, I knew that much. But she seemed polite, and quite well mannered when I spoke to her over the phone."

I blinked. Were we talking about the same person?

"She was supposed to arrive into Bon Temps tonight to help celebrate her sisters birthday. Her sister is Caroline, one of ours. She was planning a surprise party for her, and we had been discussing the details of it over the past week."

I glanced over at Sam and saw the wheels turning in his head. "Could we maybe contact Caroline at some point?" Sam asked him, echoing my thoughts. "This doesn't make much sense. She said she was in town to speak to Sookie."

"That'd probably be your best bet, although Caroline might not be in the best of moods once she finds out what happened. This will shock her."

Hopefully not to the degree that she would try to pull a Sandra Pelt on me -- but that was wishful thinking.

"I thought only the first-born could be two-natured," I interrupted suddenly. "How is it that both sisters got the gene?"

"Caroline was bitten," Calvin said. He didn't offer any more information than that. I retreated back into my thoughts as Calvin and Sam continued their initial discussion on how to handle things. Pam was nowhere in sight, and I wondered where she had disappeared to.

Finally Calvin nodded towards Jason and the two other weres. "I'll make the arrangements to transport the body back to Caroline."

I nodded dumbly. I felt Calvin's warm hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry this sort of thing keeps happening to you."

He sounded like he meant it.

I just nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

Jason looked like he wanted to say something to me, but chickened out of it at the last second and hurried after Calvin and the other Weres. Next to me, Sam growled.

"Finish out your shift and then I'll drive you home," he said. I started to protest, but he cut me off. "Pam already dropped your car back off at your house. We'll take my truck."

I didn't know whether to be furious by the fact that Pam had apparently pick pocketed my car keys without my permission, or because they had both assumed I'd willingly allow Sam to chauffeur me home, again making decisions on my behalf.

In lieu of anything nice to say, I stomped out of the office and headed back onto the floor.

At around two in the morning Sam decided it was time to leave. The rain had stopped, and although the weather had improved my mood was still a stormy one. I said nothing to him as I got into his car and snapped on my seat belt, and for the rest of the ride pretended as thought he didn't exist. Soon enough, we were turning onto the Parish road in the direction of my house, and minutes later were rolling onto my graveled driveway.

I knew when Sam slammed his foot on the brakes that I was not going to be able to escape a confrontation. His hands were squeezing the wheel tightly, and his face was locked in a grimace. I braced myself.

"Why was Pam at the bar tonight?" He demanded.

I wasn't surprised by his anger, but by the force of it. Luckily, I had an honest answer. "I have no clue."

"Pam never shows up unless there's something going on with you and Fangtasia. Whatever it was followed you all the way back to _my_ bar, so you better tell me what the hell's going on."

I stared at him.

"Well fuck you!" I yelled. I got out of the truck and kicked the door shut. He copied me, his face furious.

"Dammit Sookie there was a body in my storeroom!" He yelled. "Don't you get it? Whoever killed that girl was trying to pin it on _you_. Someone has an agenda with you in mind, and that person could be in the woods, hanging around the back of your house, or hell even in your house right now for all we know."

"Stop it!" I fumed. "Stop treating me like a damn child, and what's more I don't need you sniffing around me like a dog so stop acting like one!"

I took a second to breathe and shut my eyes tight, trying to reign in my emotions. I was telling myself that Sam had protected me, and that he was just doing a rather dreadful job of trying to relay his fears about the whole situation.

It was also late and we were both strung out, tired, and liable to say things we didn't mean. Yes. Rational thoughts were good.

"If they wanted to kill me, I'd be the one dead instead of Ginny. Use your head, Sam."

That logic seemed to appease him just a bit, but he still looked mad. "Don't forget that the Were's might still try get restitution from you, even though there's no proof. You're the easier target between the three of us."

"Appreciate the concern, but I don't need it."

It would have been funny watching Sam trying to control his temper, except it wasn't.

"You're impossible sometimes, you know?"

"No, really?" I snapped.

Sam made a noise that sounded halfway between a snort and a snarl and jumped back in the car. He pulled out of the driveway before I had a chance to yell good-bye.

Our fight must have been a loud one, because I found Amelia curled up on the carpet by the TV looking somewhat guilty. It didn't take an expert in body language to figure out she'd overheard most of it.

"Go ahead and ask, you know you want to." I said wearily as I slumped into the recliner next to her. Gus, who had been sleeping on the sofa, leapt off, waffled over, and purred happily in greeting against my legs.

"I think it might be better if you just watch this," she said, gesturing towards the television. I was going to protest when a gorgeous Brad Pitt-esque man came onscreen. I swear both Amelia and I ovulated in his presence.

"I'm really not in the mood--"

"Shh, just watch the way he works those pants."

In sync, we both tilted our heads to the side. I almost strained my neck trying to get a better view of his butt from a non-existent angle.

"This is cheating, you know. I'm supposed to stay good and angry."

Amelia shrugged. "You need relaxing scenery, girlfriend. You're wound tight as wire."

"I guess I am," I sighed, leaning back and trying to coax Gus onto my lap. He complied happily.

The television program was just about over, so Amelia aimed the remote at the TV and placed it on mute. She then turned to me, concern shining in her big brown eyes.

"So what's this I heard about a body?"

I relayed the events of the entire night to her in excruciating, high definition detail. It all came out on auto-pilot, although I left out the part where I found Ginny on my own and accidentally got a hold of the gun. I didn't need to make her an accessory to murder if for any reason I was found guilty. The less she knew, the better.

Amelia kept respectfully quiet throughout the whole tale, and when it was over she just sat back on her knees, sipping a cup of lemonade.

"Strikes you as kinda strange doesn't it?"

"What does?"

"The fact that she was coming up here to celebrate her sisters birthday. It's almost like someone sent her on your trail after finding out she would be in Bon Temps anyway."

I shrugged.

"We won't know until we talk to Caroline, and even that's a big 'what-if'. People tend to shoot the messenger."

"Mm. So what about Pam then?"

In the privacy of my own mind I had to begrudgingly acknowledge Sam's point that Pam had been there for a reason, but I truly didn't know what it was, and told Amelia as such.

"If it was that important, Pam will get the message to me somehow."

Amelia had no counter to that, so she simply nodded and un-muted the TV.

The rest of the evening was spent luxuriating in front of the television. I dare say Amelia and I had a fun time -- we painted our toenails, hers a deep magenta purple and mine cobalt blue, and got around to baking a batch of delicious caramel brownies with some leftover prepackaged mix from our last girls night together. Afterwards, we spent an hour or so flipping through channels and gushing over actors, and even pulled out some old trashy tabloids and made a cute poster collage of the various parts of the male anatomy we admired.

The only downside was that small voice in the back of my mind, the one I was desperately trying to suppress, that kept going on about how irreverent my behavior was. I wasn't supposed to be having a good time – I was supposed to be repenting for the fact that yet another person I cared about had suffered a loss because of me. No matter what had happened, Quinn was a dear friend, and I liked to think that I cared about what was important to him. He had demonstrated the lengths he'd go to for me in Rhodes, and had loved me as well as he could have. For me, it just hadn't been enough.

Of course, feeling bad was useless. I knew that. There was nothing I could do – I hadn't pulled the trigger. I hadn't asked Ginny to come to Bon Temps. But still that couldn't erase the deep, painful knowledge of what had happened, and that I had been powerless to stop it.

So when Amelia finally went upstairs, I found myself unable to sleep and crept back into the kitchen to make more brownies -- plenty of brownies, probably enough to feed the entire community. And when I ran out of prepackaged mix, I drove out to the twenty-four hour mini-mart and purchased a dozen more boxes that would last me through the night.

I'd lost count of how many batches I'd made when the sun finally came up. I was in the middle of placing a tray in the oven when I heard strangled noise and looked over my shoulder to see Amelia frozen in the doorway.

"Sookie," she said, her voice strangely high pitched, "have you been in here all night?"

"No," I answered, and my lie was apparent when she looked around and saw that almost every available surface in the kitchen was covered in rows and rows of brownies.

"You have to talk about this."

"Don't," I said, picking up a couple of eggs and cracking them on the side of the bowl. "Don't turn this into something of significance. I couldn't sleep, I wanted to bake. Let me bake."

Amelia stared at me for a while longer before shuffling out of the kitchen without another word.

At around noon, I finally decided I'd had enough. I collapsed on the couch sometime later and had blissful, dreamless sleep. Amelia woke me at around five, an hour before my shift was set to begin.

Sam was nowhere to be found when I arrived at Merlotte's. The evening crowd was somewhat thin, and the waitresses already there were loitering around, talking to the customers and taking their time with things. The atmosphere was relaxed and quiet as it could be on a typical Saturday night.

I had not been expecting Pam to show up so soon after the murder. Saturday night was also usually a busy one at Fangtasia, so when she walked into the bar at a quarter past eleven, I hastily took her to my section and sat her down in a booth where she would be at least partially obscured by the furniture.

As I was doing so, I heard a little squeal of delight and I spotted a mother and son pair playing with the fries on their plate at one of the tables close to the bar. We didn't often get children in Merlotte's for obvious reasons, but on the occasion that we did those families usually kept to themselves and ignored our drunken tenants. I watched the woman happily snuggle the boy, and he made a small chirping noise in response.

Pam looked in the direction I was staring then arched a perfect eyebrow at me. "Darling Sookie, those sorts of plebian pursuits should be beneath you."

She meant it as a compliment, I'm sure, but the implication still stung.

"What do you want, Pam?" I asked. "I'm sure you're not just here to lecture me on my future plans." And the plain fact that all my potential suitors tended to be undead and sterile, and not exactly white picket fence material.

"Well, just for your information, last night was taken care of."

I nodded tiredly.

"Thanks. So what's up Pam?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she smiled as if about to share a particularly salacious piece of gossip with me. "Eric and I are going on a little trip."

Interesting.

"To where?" I asked, trying hard to keep the curiosity out of my voice. I failed. Miserably.

"New York City."

That threw me for a short loop. New York seemed like such a world away from Louisiana that I almost considered it a different planet. The culture and people there were as alien to me as the French or Japanese.

"What for?"

"Business. We're going to be meeting with some supes who have expressed interest in opening a franchise bar in Bon Temps. It'll be mostly logistics and profit margins." She sounded bored. "Fun stuff."

"Well, tell them we bite," I snipped hotly. I was none too pleased about the idea of another bar establishment opening up in town, especially one looking to compete with Sam. I wondered if the were's knew another shifter had already laid claim to the Bon Temps territory, or if they really were completely devoid of tact.

"Ooh, you're a feisty one today," Pam purred with a slow lick of her lips. "I like it."

I rolled my eyes. "So fascinating as this is, what does it have to do with me?"

"My dear, I was wondering if you would like to go with us."

I didn't know what stunned me more. Pam's carefully phrased, polite _request_, or the fact that she thought I'd want to be within ten feet of Eric in a city one could not mention without thinking of 'sex'.

My traitorous libido did a little hop.

"No," I said, after doing some calculations in my head. "I wouldn't have enough time to make up for the lost shifts and I'm behind as it is."

"It would be a week, maximum. And I would definitely make it worth your while."

I. Not _We_. My spidey sense tingled.

"I'm not something that can be bought, Pam," I ground out through clenched teeth, doing my best to sound indignant. She didn't need to know that the idea of a vacation was slightly tempting to me, and I still suspected an ulterior motive.

Pam considered me with expressionless eyes. "Eric doesn't know about last night."

My jaw dropped open.

"Are you _blackmailing_ me?"

Pam smirked. "Lets just say it would be in both our interests if you came to New York. No vampire business, and I promise you a good time."

"Pam if you think you can just--"

"Oh don't get your panties in a twist," she huffed, pouting. "I don't plan on telling Eric, but I think some time away would be good for you. Amelia called me this morning, and the witch agrees."

Amelia. Now this was beginning to make more sense.

"So this has nothing -- I repeat, absolutely nothing to do with needing me there to help you carry out whatever scheme Eric's hatching, business or otherwise?"

"None whatsoever. We'll do business, you'll do pleasure."

Somehow it sounded far less innocent when Pam said it.

I sighed. I knew when I was fighting a losing battle, against both Pam and my horn-ball alter ego.

"When will you and Eric be leaving?" If Pam was surprised at how quickly I gave in, she said nothing of it.

"In two days. You'll be on a commercial airline and we will be traveling with Anubis per the norm. We'll meet you at your hotel when you arrive at nightfall."

Two days. That would give me just enough time to do some snooping around, visit Caroline and maybe, if I was feeling suicidal, check in on Quinn.

"Sounds like a plan," I said reluctantly. "Does Eric know you're asking me on this trip?"

Pam looked positively radiant. "He hasn't a clue."

Great. Just Great.

I suddenly had a thought. "Can Amelia come with me It sounds like you and Eric will be occupied most of the night, and I'd be completely alone during the day, so…"

"Taken care of," was Pam's only answer as she left a tip on the table. She hadn't even ordered anything. "I best be off, darling." Looking quite pleased with herself, she blew me a kiss, then sashayed out of the bar with a purposeful swing to her hips. Several lustful male eyes followed her as she exited, pounding my poor brain with thoughts that would make even Hugh Heffner blush.

I was beyond tired, and it was beginning to show with the cracks in my mental shields. It wasn't just one or two stray thoughts leaking in, but a whole symphony of bad porn-laced fantasies that were making both my ears and eyes bleed. The later the hour, the more drunk the clientele, the worse it became, and a whole night's worth of missed sleep made the experience all the more excruciating.

My shift was over by midnight. Sam and I still had yet to say anything to one another -- he had yet to actually appear -- but I decided to leave it for another night when I had more energy.

The last person I expected to see waiting for me in the parking lot was my brother.

"I'm not in the mood for this," I said briskly as I walked up to my car. Jason had a peculiar expression on his face, the one he usually had when he had something to tell me he didn't quite understand himself. My brother wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box, and he was as selfish as anything, but I liked to think he had a good heart.

His hands were tucked into his jeans, and under the dim lamplight he looked really young all of a sudden.

"Did you do it?"

He asked me with all of the frankness and self-righteousness of a kid asking his sister if she'd stolen the last cookie. I swung around to look at him, incredulous.

"I've put up with a lot from you in the past, Jason Stackhouse, but you had better not just asked me that, "I said, my voice low and threatening.

Jason at least looked ashamed, but he stood his ground. "I'm your brother Sook, Calvin may not have been able to tell, but I know when you're lying to me."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Well you're lying about something!" He yelled back. "Just as you lied to be about our whole airy fairy thing that you had going on with great grand pops."

"I didn't lie," I said though gritted teeth. "I just didn't mention it. Do you think you would've been able to handle all of that? Don't you be fooling me, you wouldn't have believed a word of it."

"Would've sure been helpful to know since apparently those fairies may have wanted to kill me!"

He had me there. I didn't respond, and just watched as Jason raked his hands through his hair and kicked the dirt.

"I don't know what you gone and done with my sister, but I feel like I don't even know who you are anymore."

"Pot, meet kettle," I bit back.

He glared at me.

"Go to hell, Sook." Then he took off into the woods, and it was only then I noticed it was a full moon.

I raced home after that -- with tensions as high as they were, it didn't seem a good idea to be hanging out alone in the dark with no form of protection from something that may or may not have it in for me.

It was only by some miracle I wasn't caught speeding by the cops, and I pulled into my driveway with utmost relief. As usual, my porch lights were on, but I didn't see any movement through the windows.

Amelia wasn't home. I found a note from her tacked to the fridge.

_At Rose's. Don't wait up. Xoxo, A._

Rose's was the name of a quaint little coffee shop by Main Street that hosted a bi-weekly book club for library card members. What had started off as a gathering of middle-aged housewives whom would rather discuss the bedding habits of my brother than the literary devices used in Catcher in the Rye, had turned into a social event where most of Bon Temps singles appeared to drink coffee, laugh, and talk about anything other than books. On the weekends they even invited musicians to perform on a little sound stage they'd erected with the permissions of Rose's owner, a little old man who had named the place in memory of his late wife.

Amelia had been attending the gatherings ever since Tray had died, which had been for the past five months. I offered to go with her once, but it seemed to be something she preferred to do alone, and I didn't know whether she was simply lonely and looking for company or if there were actual people there she felt she could confide in. She certainly wasn't confiding in me.

Either way, going there seemed to help her, so I couldn't complain. I wished I could play a part in her healing, but I knew that I was in no position to ask that of her.

In a way, it was nice to have the house to myself for the evening. I noticed that Amelia had cleared the kitchen of every last offending brownie, and wondered if she had brought them all the Rose's to distribute among the people there.

I wasn't particularly hungry, just thirsty, so I poured myself some water before retreating to my room for some midnight reading and a relaxing shower.

I tried to think of things to look forward to in New York City, in an effort to psych myself up for the trip. The truth was that I was hopeful at the prospect of getting out of Bon Temps for a while. Granted I would still have to discuss the matter of getting my shifts covered with Sam, but with the recent problems with the economy there seemed no shortage of people eager for a temp job – Sam had gotten many requests over the past couple months for a spot on the wait staff, so I didn't feel too bad about the short notice. I was also in desperate need of some fun and levity, and something to get my mind off of things for a while.

Since Amelia wasn't home, I took it upon myself to do some research of my own. I wasn't a computer genius by any means, but I knew enough about them to navigate my own way p through the Internet, and Amelia had always said I was welcome to use her computer whenever I wanted.

She had offered to set me up an email account a while back, but I'd turned her down. I didn't use the computer often enough to justify having people send me email. It would end up being a situation where they'd send me a letter and receive a reply, oh… about a year later. I had a hard enough time keeping up with text messages as it were.

Amelia's room was neat and tidy as usual. Her laptop had been set up on the desk, and a couple romance novels had been stacked up on the opposite end next to a pad of paper and a box of pens.

Once I was settled in front of the screen, I clicked on the little E icon and made a face at the browser window. I typed in the most general search terms I could think of -- New York City -- and was rewarded with over two hundred and eight-two million hits.

I stared at the screen in horror. Biting my bottom lip, I made a small attempt to narrow the query.

New York City Tourist Destinations.

That yielded a far better result and, feeling a little more certain of my competency, I clicked on the most popular hit, which led to a site called 'New York City Tourist dot com.'

It was full of comprehensive information from what the weather was like, to the best places to eat, with of course a recent addendum to say that all supernatural species were welcome to New York, touting the many Were-based attractions.

Since New Orleans was well known as the undead capital of the US -- and profiting handsomely for it tourist wise -- there seemed to be a silent competition brewing between all the other states to see which would lay claim to being the Were capital of America. NYC certainly looked to be placing a bid for the title, if the extended Were-related listings and hospitality -- fur friendly! -- were any indication. I was apparently missing out on a shifting festival tonight, held in central park every full moon, a chance for spectators to witness the transformation process first hand in full uninhibited glory. I wonder if the Were's had concocted a business plan similar to the one at Fangtasia, where Eric demanded any visitors in his area were required to showcase themselves at the vampire bar every so often to keep the tourists happy.

I clicked through a couple photographs on the page, familiarizing myself with landmarks such as the statue of Liberty on Ellis Island and the Rockefeller Center. I also grew excited at the prospect of maybe catching a Broadway show or two. I loved theater, but the last time I had been to a show was a long time ago, on my first date with Quinn.

The thought of Quinn turned my stomach, and I scanned through the Broadway descriptions quickly.

I spent another hour clicking through various links and page, and by the time I was done Gus had somehow fallen asleep on my lap and it was sometime past one. Amelia still hadn't returned home yet, and I suspected she wouldn't be if she had found the right guy to share the night with.

Satisfied with my research, I slammed the laptop shut. I'd jotted down a list of places that looked interesting, as well as some of the show listings on Broadway. I could only hope Amelia and I would be able to find a local guide to take us around, but the whole New York subway system seemed interesting so, with or without a car, transportation didn't look like it would be an issue.

Unexpectedly, and with a smile on my face, I found myself craving a brownie.

--

Next up -- Sookie arrives in New York and discovers the big city is hiding a few secrets of its own. Lars gives fashion advice, and Eric is a bad, bad boy.


	4. Chapter 4: Carrie

Quick disclaimer: The hotel and most every landmark in NYC mentioned actually exists, and I retain no rights to any of it.

Anyway, that aside, thanks again for the reviews (so much love for you all!) and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. The words flowed easier this time... and I definitely have Eric to thank.

--

Ch**apter Four: Carrie**

The next two days passed by in an anxiety-ridden blur. I'd been trying to summon up the courage to do several things -- tie up loose ends, as the saying goes, before the trip the New York -- but I'd somehow morphed into a world-class procrastinator, and avoidance was my new status quo.

I did my laundry, picked up some travel essentials and bought myself some new reading material to occupy the flight there and back. I mended fences with Sam over a cup of coffee. It was a weird conversation with both of us awkwardly apologizing for losing our tempers, but if anything he seemed relieved that I'd decided to take some time off, and assured me he had more than enough temp applications to cover my shifts. He also offered to pop by my place twice a day to leave food and water out for Gus, and again I had to marvel how lucky I was to have someone like him in my life. At least he was more reliable and trustworthy than my brother, whom I was trying hard not to think about.

I didn't get around to calling Caroline or Quinn. Cowardice played a definite role there, but I promised myself I'd see both of them upon my return to Bon Temps. They would've been informed of the circumstances surrounding Ginny's death by now, and since neither had come a calling, I reasoned that they both needed space, and perhaps some alcohol to dull the pain. A week would provide a suitable time buffer.

However, the main source of my unease sat on my bedside table -- a white, pressed envelope that contained a note to me from my Great Grandfather.

I didn't know what I was afraid of. It could have been a multitude of things, but all I knew was I couldn't open that letter. I wasn't strong enough for it yet.

Minutes before Amelia and I left for the airport that morning, I tucked it under my pillow and kissed the sheets. I couldn't think of a better hiding place, and I had a distant worry that Jason might drop by while I was gone and let his curiosity get the better of him. The last thing I needed was Jason Stackhouse going through my things and getting the wrong handle on the situation, and who knows what information that letter contained.

Maybe it was irresponsible to leave the letter behind, but I just knew I couldn't take it with me.

We made it to the airport with little trouble. Andy, of all people, had offered us a ride. I really think marrying Haley had softened him up a lot, and he was much kinder and happier than he had been in the past. He gave me a peck on the cheek as he saw us off, and I think he might have even blushed a little.

As we were queuing in line for the ticket counter, Amelia did something very strange. She pulled us out of the queue suddenly, and came to face me with a slightly panicked expression on her face.

"Sookie, I want you to promise me something."

Conversations that started like this never ended well, I'd learned.

"Sure, I said cautiously, folding my arms across my chest.

"We're going to have _fun_, on this trip, okay? Forget about the vamps, the supes, whatever – this is going to be our own little version of sex and the city. I want you to channel your inner Carrie Bradshaw for me, and I'll do the same for you."

I gave Amelia the widest smile I possibly could.

The flight itself was a comfortable one. We were given great seats, and the food was surprisingly delicious. We touched down at a little bit past seven, and there was a limo driver waiting for us at arrival hall. After checking over his ID and accreditations, we were off, two polished hicks in the big bright city. I had to resist the urge to roll down the window and lean out as the sights passed us by.

The limo driver's name was Ade (pronounced AH-DAY) and he was a looming giant with dark skin and an infectious smile. He seemed to be quick tickled with our accents, and gave us some insight into what he thought were the best Broadway shows around when he learned of my interest in the subject. He also told us that he was working on his graduate thesis at Columbia University and moonlighted as a limo driver to pay for tuition. Apparently the job paid very well, and he said that once the year was over, which would be soon, he would have just enough to be able to carry on as a student full-time without needing a side job.

Amelia and I made certain to tip him well as he dropped us off at our hotel. I had no idea how one tipped in New York, but Amelia seemed knowledgeable enough about those matters and took care of it as I directed the bellboy with our bags.

After thanking Ade, he drove off and we were left to gawk at our surroundings.

Pam was the gift that just kept on giving. The hotel was utterly fabulous. It was a newly renovated boutique hotel in Midtown just off of Third Avenue. The exterior was made almost completely of glass, and inside there was a retro feel to the furniture, which included a lobby fireside that provided a very stylish, incongruous centerpiece to the overall chic décor. The floor was an off-white marble, and the walls were lined with burgundy red paneling offset by swatches of black that formed alternating geometric patterns across the entire area.

It wasn't long before a smiling brunette with a short, cropped cut much like Amelia's came striding forward to meet us. There was a single Orchid pinned to her lapel, and I noticed that the Orchid was a recurring theme among the rest of the staff.

Her nametag read 'Carrie,' and I took that as a positive sign.

"Welcome to The Alex," she said brightly. "You must be Ms. Stackhouse and Ms. Broadway. We are very pleased you have chosen us for your week long stay."

Well, we didn't exactly choose the place, but I didn't correct her. She introduced us to two more members of staff at the concierge, and then led us to the check-in counter, where we filled in our particulars before each receiving a set of card keys that would allow us to access two-bedroom suite. Apparently the suite came fully equipped with a kitchen, dining room, living room, a workspace area and even a balcony… Pam had gone the full nine yards.

"Could we request for a couple of True Blood's to be placed our mini-fridge?" I asked, looking over the drink list.

Ever professional, Carrie didn't flinch.

"Of course. We are able to fully cater to all supernatural needs, so please do not hesitant to call reception for anything else you might want."

"Good to know," Amelia mumbled under her breath, none too pleased that we seemed unable to shake off supes no matter where we went. She was trying her best not to broadcast but was doing a poor job of it, and I found myself patting her hand.

We thanked Carrie for her help and then asked the concierge to take our bags upstairs while we waited for Pam.

We didn't have to wait long. She appeared ten minutes later, wearing what I could only describe as hooker heels and a scarlet two-piece power suit that had surely been designed to stop traffic.

Amelia's eyes bugged out of their sockets slightly. I nudged her in the ribs.

"You look nice," I said. If she was flattered, Pam didn't show it.

"I trust the flight was to your satisfaction?" She asked, nodding in Amelia's direction in greeting. "Their service is supposed to be excellent."

"Oh yes," Amelia replied, seeming to have regained some of her composure. She flashed her white teeth at Pam. "Sookie and I are grateful."

Pam had sauntered in through the front door, and although I had initially thought she and Eric would be staying at the same hotel as us, all the guests I'd seen so far looked to be one hundred percent human. Pam was also taking stock of the place as though she'd never visited before – I couldn't read vampire minds (at least, not reliably) but I'd gotten pretty good at reading their behavior, and right now she was doing the animal equivalent of sniffing out the place.

"Where are you staying, Pam?" I asked. She didn't miss a beat.

"Two blocks from here, at the Crown Majestic. Should you need me I'm in room 35A. Eric is in 35B."

Only Eric would pick a hotel with a name that ostentatious.

"That's pretty… high up," was all I could say in response.

I nearly asked where Eric was, but caught myself just in time. What had I expected? Pam had said herself that Eric had no idea I was coming to New York, so it wouldn't make sense for him to show up all informed and gentlemanly as I'd imagined. Although I didn't know how Pam was going to explain smelling of me, and the airline, limo and hotel expenses we had racked up over the course of the day. Surely Eric was going to notice that much chunk change being spent without his knowing, regardless of how much he trusted Pam with his account books.

Pam smirked a little. "Well I just wanted to come by and make sure the accommodations were to your liking, as I will be otherwise unavailable for the rest of the evening; business, you know."

"Sure," I said, hoping I appeared gracious enough. "But the hotel is lovely. Thank you."

She grinned. "I would recommend the hotel restaurant for dinner. I hear it's quite good."

Surely Pam was breaking some vampire rule about unnecessary kindness towards humans. It just wasn't right. Once again I was unable to shake off the suspicion that she was up to something, and that I wouldn't be aware of it until after I was halfway down the cliff.

For now, all I could do was smile.

Soon after Pam's departure, Amelia and I wandered into "Riingo," an upscale dining room that was, as our maitre de explained to us, owned by famed chef Marcus Samuelsson. That name meant absolutely nothing to Amelia or I, so we just bounced our heads and then buried ourselves in the menu.

We ordered some duck dumplings to start, followed by a soy-glazed salmon with fried rice and scallions for Amelia and a Chili-roasted chicken with mushrooms and water spinach for me. I was relieved that the menu was not overly fancy, with names unpronounceable by anything other than a native French tongue, and with no parts of the anatomy up for order that made me want to keel over or do anything involuntary.

I tried to relax and soak in the dining atmosphere, marveling at the sheer sophistication of it all. This was really a rare occasion for me, to wine and dine like one of the elite, and I was enjoying myself far too much to question any ulterior motives Pam might have. I would just take it all in stride and deal with the consequences later.

The meal was excellent, both salmon and chicken perfectly cooked. "Pure Artistry," were the words Amelia used between mouthfuls. My meat was tender and the vegetables savory with a hint of sweetness to contrast the heat of the chili. We didn't indulge in any desert, but did order a double chocolate martini each. The cocktail was my own brand of liquid fairy. It was absolutely orgasmic.

"The night's still young, we should go to a club," Amelia suggested as she signed off on the check, billing it to our room. "I was reading the hotel brochure earlier, and there are a couple popular ones on the Upper East Side, not far from here. Or," she said, with a wicked glint in her eye. "We could just roam the streets, look for stuff to do."

'Stuff to do' translated into 'boys to meet, boys to screw,' in Amelia-speak.

"Sure," I agreed merrily. I was well liquored up and hungry for some fun. It wasn't like I was married -- well, technically in vampire terms I was, but to hell with that -- and there was nothing wrong with admiring the scenery.

We left the restaurant in good spirits, and while Amelia went to the concierge to summon a limo. I contented myself with watching people coming and going, in and out of the hotel. I had to admit to checking out a couple of guys, but it was all in harmless fun as my thoughts were still transfixed on a certain blue-eyed Viking. It was just too hard to stay mad at him, try as I might. Especially when I was tipsy.

I was just contemplating how Eric might react if I showed up at his door wearing nothing but a trench coat and stilettos, when Amelia came barreling around the corner her eyes lit up with glee. She clutched what looked to be a pair of tickets in her hand.

"You will SO love me for this!"

"Whoah!" I reached out a hand to steady her and prevent her body from crashing into mine. "Slow down and tell me what's going on."

Amelia pursed her lips together. "Do you remember that show we were watching the other night?"

I nodded my head hesitantly. Honestly I didn't remember anything of the plot, just that there had been a substantial number of delectable men. I hoped this wouldn't turn into a quiz.

"Well as it turns out they are having a _live_ viewing in an hour about six blocks from here! The concierge had a bunch reserved for hotel guests only, and guess who got the last two?"

She waved two scrap pieces of paper in front of my face.

I couldn't share in Amelia's joy just yet; I was still perplexed as to what was going on. My mind was still drowning in chocolate.

"I don't get it. Are we going to see a Broadway show?"

"Sookie!" Amelia wailed exasperatedly. Embarrassed, she hooked her arm in mine and pulled us both out of the hotel, babbling on at about a hundred miles per second.

Six blocks turned out to be quite a distance to walk in three-inch heels. The fresh air did us both some good, however, and I was experiencing a different sort of numbness (in the realm of foot pain) by the time we strolled into the television studio. Sadly most of the martini had worn off and my high was now a low. I was a bit irritated Amelia had dragged us all the way to this place when there was still so much more of the city to see. I thought our time might be better spent walking through Times Square or perhaps club hopping in SoHo.

"How long is this supposed to last?" I asked her as we were placed in queue, presumably the one for the _live viewing_. The label sounded fishy to me, like we were about to witness a slaughter or something equally morbid.

"An hour or so? That's how long one episode usually is," she said, straining her neck as she looked towards the front of the line. There was a crowd of women ahead of us, most of them in their mid to early twenties and dressed up to the nines, but with a smattering of older women that reminded me of the housewife socialites I often saw on reality TV.

All of a sudden I heard one of them scream, and searched anxiously for any sign of blood or impending mayhem. Instead, all I saw was a sandy haired Adonis entering through the front door. He wore a sharp gray suit and was flanked by two men who looked like bodyguards.

"RYAN KWANTEN I LOVE YOU!!!"

The room exploded in a chorus of shrieks and squeals. This Ryan guy was followed by a couple other men, who I all assumed were actors, and if anything the shrieking and squealing only heightened in intensity.

"This is…"

"… utter madness!" Amelia finished for me, her eyes wide. We were caught in a sea of estrogen, and it didn't seem like we were going to be saved any time soon. I had to admit, however, that the marvelous amount of eye candy parading in front of us did make the crowd just a tad bit easier to bear, and I found myself wishing I had a camera.

"What's the name of this show again?" I yelled to Amelia over the crowd.

"I can't remember... higher brain not functioning!" She yelled back.

Things calmed down only after the actors had been ushered into the backroom, and we were led to what looked to be a sound stage, where rows of metallic bleachers had been set up. A small, angry looking man with a clipboard was directing a couple of stagehands around. I watched, fascinated, as he had them make little adjustments to the set (which was reminiscent of an old house, much like my own) and then to some complicated-looking lights.

After we settled into our seats, I found my mind wandering and spied a couple of executive-looking types hanging out on the upper wings, far above the staging area. I was surprised to find out, after a little probing, that they were shifters. There was that unmistakable red tinge to their thoughts, along snarl of emotions that rolled off them reeking of greed, impatience, and avarice.

"I didn't know this studio was owned by Were's," I whispered to Amelia, relying on the cacophony of noise around us to mask my voice from those of sharper hearing. "They're everywhere."

And they were. After I started probing around a bit more, it seemed everyone involved in the production was a shifter of some sort, although I didn't pick up on any sort of malicious intent from any of them. The only human beings were the women in the audience and the angry little man with the clipboard.

It was then that I felt The Hum. The deep, powerful hum of the blood bond in my veins, telling me that wherever Eric was, he was close by.

What the hell was Eric doing in a television studio when he was supposed to be attending to business? My first instinct was the think that he had somehow found out I was in town and had followed me here, but that made little sense. I wasn't in any danger (aside from the possibility of going deaf from the screams) and it wasn't like Eric to eschew duty in favor of stalking someone who'd pretty much told him to fuck off only a few days before.

Maybe he was inking a deal for a new Fangtasia commercial? Was he extending his business empire to include television production?

I spun off a couple other, more ludicrous scenarios, but until I found the vampire nothing could be certain.

More determined to get to the bottom of things now, I started to stand up when all of a sudden the spotlights flared up and the rest of the studio went dim. All chatter was reduced to a murmur, and I saw clipboard man make a hand signal at some guy balancing precariously on a ceiling beam at stage right.

"And we're live!" Some flunky yelled.

On cue, the door to the house of the set burst open, and there, clad in a deep V-necked black shirt and white linen pants, was my Viking, getting the full blown effect of the wind machine as he carried a red-headed, voluptuous woman in his arms.

"Oh Leif!" She cooed, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead in a dramatic gesture. Her generous bosom heaved with feigned exertion. "I cannot take anymore of your games, say you'll be with me or leave now and let me nurse a broken heart!"

"Never!" He declared with a manly growl, "My darling, I may not have a pulse, but for you I'd leave it all behind in a heartbeat."

Across America, millions of teen bots and fangbangers alike swooned.

"_Oooooh._"

Next to me Amelia's eyes had glazed over, and her hands were clasped to the side of her cheek in a dreamy fashion. She wasn't the only one.

The entire television studio seemed to be a flutter with hushed whispers and lustful sighs as the director motioned for Eric and his actress hussy to seal the deal.

Pandemonium broke out when Eric dipped her back and ravished her lips like only a thousand year old Viking could.

I didn't know what was worst. Being surrounded by squealing women while being bombarded with their graphic, disgustingly _creative_ fantasies about the man I was supposedly pledged to, or the fact that I had to watch alongside the entire nation as Eric made out with a woman that wasn't me.

"Oooh!" One female toothpick cried out. "He's so yummy I just want to pinch his cheeks!"

I assumed she wasn't talking about the ones on his face.

To his credit, he broke it off the moment the director yelled 'CUT,' but the pleased look on his face from the reaction he'd gotten from the crowd and the semi-conscious woman in his arms hit me like a two by four. I stared, I glared -- I felt like he'd just ripped my heart out.

Suddenly I was seized with the kind of rage that boiled the blood in my veins. The vampire in question turned his gaze to me, as if just realizing I was there, a question in his eyes.

Not caring who was watching, I stood up, flipped Eric the bird, and then stomped off in my most dramatic exit yet, nearly tripping over the bleachers in the process.

Not surprisingly, I ran into Pam before I could get very far. That is, I literally _ran_ into her, and as anyone knows, running into a vampire at full speed was like running into a block of wood. I would have bruises in the morning.

"Out of my way," I sniped, glaring up at her. "You really don't want to cross me right now."

"Sorry Sookie, but I'm loyal to my maker and I'm sure he's going to want to have words with you," She retorted. She didn't seem very amused at my situation, which was odd. Pam usually found humor in everything I did, especially when it pertained to my love life or lack thereof.

"You think I should talk to him after that, that--" I waved my arms about, completely flustered, "--pornographic display? I don't think so! He was all over her!"

"That was hardly porn, and keep in mind my dear, that while you and I might not agree, most of the fun is in the foreplay."

I had a feeling she wasn't talking about the kissing scene anymore.

"You are both being children. Sit down and _talk_."

"So you agree he was playing it up deliberately?"

"He was being Eric," Pam said with a shrug, as if that should explain everything.

"I don't get it," I said, resisting the urge to stamp my feet. "What the hell is he _doing_ up there?"

"I don't know, lover," came a deep, rumbling voice way too close to my ear. "Why don't you just ask me yourself?"

I froze, half-angry that I'd been so caught up raging at Eric to not have felt him approaching across our blood bond. I stepped away, throwing him a glare for good measure. I let my silence speak for me.

"Pam," He said taking his eyes off of me to throw a dirty look at his child. "I am most displeased."

"Hello?" I said incredulously, waving my hand in the air. "Standing right here?"

He ignored me, and continued to speak to Pam. "Why have you done this?"

Pam didn't seem to have an answer; or rather, she didn't have an answer with me standing right there. Eric seemed to come to that conclusion the same time that I did, and it wasn't until he looked at me again that I realized I was shaking. With anger, most likely. I was filled with too many emotions to care.

"We will talk later," he said, as if the issue was no longer up for discussion. Whether he was talking to Pam or I was unclear until he turned in the direction of the set and motioned for her to follow.

"Go back to the hotel," he said to me over his shoulder. "I will come for you."

Feeling like a complete fool, I watched him walk away from me with a sort of shameless swagger that was so typically Eric. I didn't think it was possible for a single person to inspire such conflicting thoughts in me, ranging from lust to anger to downright disgust. Then again, no one else I knew had been alive for more than a century, with enough blood and war in his past to fill volumes upon volumes of history books.

It had all been acting, but it still felt, irrationally, like he had cheated on me in some way. I still didn't know what he was doing here, and he hadn't even offered an explanation, but whatever he was up to he certainly wasn't guilty or mortified by what I'd seen. That should have been enough to placate me, but I was still doubtful. And embarrassed. And hurt.

Amelia was a big girl. She could find her own damn way back to the hotel.

I was out of there in a flash. I made several attempts to flag down a cab, but ended up hoofing it across the New York pavement when it became apparent that empty cabs were a myth at this time of day.

At around the halfway point my aching feet finally reached their limit. I took off my shoes, and in a fit of anger, tossed them into the garbage. I made it the rest of the way barefoot, drawing one or two odd stares.

If any of the hotel staff found my appearance disconcerting, they did a good job of hiding it. I made it up to the suite without further incident, and immediately located the bathroom.

As far as relaxation methods went, the shower was my most potent one. There was something about the feel of hot water on my skin that helped loosen my muscles and shed all of my frustrations. It was also a form of aromatherapy, and I was relieved to find out at the hotel used a rather fragrant brand of shampoo and conditioner. The scent was heady but not overwhelming, and filled the stall with an aromatic steam that I inhaled with much vigor, as though doing so could literally cleanse my mind of the days events.

When I finally turned off the water, I was a lot less angry. But although much of the anger had faded, I knew that at the core of it I was miserable. Miserable about my life, about the turn things had taken, and about far more than Eric's little stunt tonight, hurtful as that was. I was sick of feeling this way.

The hotel had provided huge, fluffy robes as part of its service, and after I had toweled off, I wrapped myself in one and stood in front of the sink. I wiped the fog from the glass and I stared at my reflection for a long time. Not thinking, just… watching.

I must have stood there for a good twenty minutes, because the steam had completely cleared and I could see myself with clarity now. Droplets of condensation tracked down my cheeks, and it took me a second to realize that they were actually tears.

"Stupid girl," I muttered, wiping at my face with the heel of my palm. I busied myself with brushing my teeth, finding all the amenities I needed prepared in neat little packages by the side of the sink.

By the time I was done I probably had the cleanest mouth in all of New York City. With a sigh, I pushed open the door--

-- and stepped out of the bathroom to find Eric seated in one of the suite's plush couches.

The bathroom I'd used wasn't the master bathroom, and was connected to the living area of the suite. He was sitting opposite a modern looking coffee table, perpendicular to another couch that was facing a flat screen TV. His eyes did not meet mine. He was looking off into the distance.

"Get out, Eric," I said wearily, digging my toes into the carpet. "Whatever it is, I believe you, I forgive you, and we'll talk about it some other time. I just want to go bed."

"No," he replied in that infuriatingly calm tone of his. "We won't talk about it some other time, we will deal with it now."

Whatever state of Zen I had achieved in the shower was quickly going to become undone at this rate.

I folded my arms across my chest. "Then enlighten me. What the hell do we have to talk about?"

"What you saw tonight was staged. I do not see why you are upset."

I wanted to slap him.

"Who said I was upset?" I practically yelled. "I only saw you making out with another woman, but of course being pledged to me means absolutely nothing to you from what I can tell."

He was in front of me so fast I hadn't even seen him move.

"Don't you _ever_ question my loyalty to you," he growled, towering over me in full fanged out mode. Once upon a time he might have intimidated me, but that time was long past. I simply shoved him and then took a step back to place more distance between us.

"Loyalty? You… you…" I paused, grasping for word that might have some impact, "_dishonored_ me with what you did tonight! How would it have looked if I had been in your place? The blood-bonded human of a vampire making out with some actor on national television?"

That seemed to have some effect on him, and he didn't reply. Instead, he closed his eyes. This was one of those times where I really wished I could read what was going on in his head.

"It was part of an important business arrangement," he said finally, his voice monotone. "I was going to ask you to come with me to play the role of the woman but--" his eyes pierced mine, accusing "--you never gave me the chance to ask you."

I felt a pang in my chest, but I still wasn't done being mad. "And that's supposed to make your behavior acceptable?"

"I took appropriate action to ensure your survival. So yes, you will accept it and move on."

I hesitated. "What?"

"Does it mater?" He said, looking irritated all of a sudden. "You said you want nothing to do with vampire politics. I am simply acquiescing to your demand."

"Oh no buster, you are so not using that as an excuse."

"I thought we already had a conversation about this 'buster' business, _lover._"

"Then give me a straight answer!"

"And would that really solve anything?"

Silence descended upon the both of us, thick and crushing. I no longer knew what he wanted from me anymore. Usually it was just sex, and that I could deal with. But we were both venturing into new territory now with much more at stake. We were pledged, and he was a Sheriff in servitude to a ruthless king while I was a telepath and supe-magnet with a rather acute case of neuroses and PTSD. There was nothing particularly normal about the things we did or the worlds we lived in. We had a lot of issues and part of the problem was that I had no idea where to start.

"I am no longer certain of what I should say to you," he suddenly blurted out. There was nothing composed about his manner now. He seemed… forlorn.

I blinked. Of all the things I had expected him to say that had been on the bottom of the list.

"Say what you feel?" I said unhelpfully, not even quite sure what he was trying to get at. In a way I was also trying to play dumb. Eric hated to talk about his feelings. Maybe if I made things uncomfortable enough, he'd stop.

It occurred to me as I was staring at him that Eric looked much paler than usual. I wondered when he had last fed, or if he had been deliberately holding out on blood to try and elicit a little sympathy from me.

Well, it was working.

I by no means saw Eric as weak, but when you saw Eric at anything other than his prime, it was a sad sight and just seemed wrong.

"I can get you a Trueblood from the fridge, if you'd like" I said quietly. "You look terrible."

If he took it as an insult, I wouldn't know because his face didn't react. He just ignored the comment completely.

"Trying to talk to you… is like trying to piece back together shards of glass. Almost impossible." He closed his eyes and balled his fists. "I'm trying, but it almost seems like you want to remain broken."

What does a person say to something like that? Eric was not a feely person. He was almost completely guileless and unshakable, the kind of guy you wanted on the witness stand because he could be both honest and manipulative all at once. The only time he had ever been able to wax poetic about love was that one time he was cursed, and I had been able to see him without a century's worth of masks. I didn't know how to deal with the Eric in front of me now.

"You think I'm broken?"

"Aren't you?" He challenged.

"I take offense to that," I said, almost angrily. "I'm not some weak little thing that needs fixing."

"And since when have I ever called you weak?"

"You just did!"

"It's not the same thing."

"But you said--"

"Lover, _shut up_."

And I did.

Eric didn't need to breathe, but I bet if he did, he'd be breathing hard. Or at least, he looked to be thinking hard.

"I want you to tell me everything that happened while you were captured."

My blood froze.

"And why would you finally ask that of me after all these months?" I asked, bitterly, not daring to look at him. I didn't want to let him see the power the memories had over me.

"Two reasons," he began, and he reached over with one hand to cup my chin. Gently, he turned my face to his. "I thought that by giving you time you would eventually recover. But I was wrong. In some ways I am new to understanding the subtleties of human behavior, and I am trying to learn." He paused. "I never had a reason to care about humans before."

He sounded contemplative now. Peaceful.

"And the second?" I asked, a little dazed.

"The second is that I have been around long enough to know death isn't just physical." His eyes bore into me, dark, mesmerizing, and meaningful. "Some wounds just don't heal."

Unbidden, I thought of Godfrey, standing outside the Fellowship of the Sun, pale hair sparkling in the sunlight, moments before his skin crumbled to ash. I had been his witness. Was I making Eric mine?

"Deep, Eric," I said chuckling half-heartedly, trying to inject a little levity into the situation. I was completely rattled by the serious turn things had taken, and I didn't know what to do. I looked down and examined my toenails while pondering the truthfulness of his words.

"You're still hurting," He said simply, forcing me to look back up at him. "You never stopped."

"Even if I am, what makes you think you can help?" I asked softly.

"I can listen." The corners of his mouth tugged upwards slightly. "If you recall, I was quite excellent at it too."

The conviction of his words filled me, and it was more than my heart was able to contain. In that instant I saw someone else in Eric's eyes, someone I thought I had lost.

I told him everything. And this time, I didn't hold back.

--

Next up: Sookie gains a new identity, Lars is finally able to give some fashion advice, and Eric schemes.


End file.
